Tomorrow is my book club, at my house. I should be finishing the cherry cream glaze on my cherry chocolate brownies, or my grasshopper pie, or tortellini salad, or my romaine sirloin steak salad. And, I definitely should be cleaning. However, stop the madness! No one will care, and if they do, they get booted for being anti-literary. Mostly the women will be wining instead of whining and will be loudly sharing their own personal interpretation of the book. I love the group and how we can agree to disagree on anything: religion, politics, Bridgett Jones, what to wear under a burka (sp?). I'm always replaying all the wonderful quips and laughter of the evening later in bed, wishing that the meeting was still bubbling forth. My extroverted side will glow with post-delight. Our book wasn't too meaningful this time; however, our exchange will still be, I'm almost certain. Now, I hope that I can stay awake for it, because I have a lot left to do. No wonder I don't volunteer to host only once every two years!